


The Wager

by Kangofu_CB



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Tropes, Tumblr Prompt, a bet, no redeeming qualities, plot so thin you could use it as a window pane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 09:23:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12078228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/pseuds/Kangofu_CB
Summary: Written in response to a prompt from ClaraxBarton for the Accidental Sex Trope List.“Okay can I ask for BOTH or either of these: “I lost a bet to you and the circumstances were supposed to be a joke but I took them seriously” sex “You were joking about something and I took you seriously” sex And 2x3x2 for either one please!!!!”Duo and Trowa have a wager, and Duo loses... or does he?





	The Wager

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Clara for the ridiculous prompt, and I hope you enjoy the result!
> 
> (This is completely unbeta'd, though it did enjoy some more awake/sober editing when I moved it from Tumblr to here!)

“Ok but if I win-”

 

“What are you two betting on?’

 

Duo turned, meeting Quatre’s amused gaze, and grinned.  “Just, ah-”

 

“Side bets,” Trowa smoothly interrupted, “for our football league.  We’re playing each other this week, and the league requires side bets on every game, in addition to the league pay to play fee.”

 

The blonde looked vaguely confused.  Duo rushed to explain.

 

“So you pay to enter the league - everyone pays fifty bucks, and then all the money goes in a pot and it’s divided up between the top three teams at the end of playoffs.  So the top team gets five hundred bucks, the second team gets two-fifty, and the third place team gets a hundred, so at least they make a profit.  Oh! And the last place team gets a five pound bag of peanuts to replenish their sodium levels.”

 

“And then each game gets a side bet between team owners.  This week Duo and I are playing each other.  And when I win-”

 

“You mean if!   _If_ you win!”

 

“ _When_ I win, Duo has to wash and detail my car this week, in an outfit of my choosing.”

 

Duo rolled his eyes.  “And when you _lose_ you have to ask Penny in Records out to dinner.”

 

“You cannot be serious,” Trowa protested mildly, “the bets are supposed to be embarrassing but not dangerous.  That’s written in the rules!”

 

“There’s nothing dangerous about asking a woman to dinner!”

 

“There is when the woman is infatuated with you and you’ve filed no less than three sexual harassment complaints!”

 

When Duo looked up from the ongoing argument, Quatre had quietly wandered away, probably in self-preservation.  It was a well known fact that Duo and Trowa were entirely too competitive and that they took their rivalry a bit too far on occasion.  At one point they’d both been on training duty at the same time, and the resultant push to have the best group of graduates had set training numbers that had yet to be broken.

 

Of course, forty percent of the class had dropped out.

 

Une barred them from recruit training after that, and had ordered them to find a more appropriate outlet.

 

Hence the fantasy football league, the latest in a long string of ‘appropriate outlets.’  This one had lasted longer than most, this being their third season with the league, where they were particularly popular for their side bets.

 

Only last week Duo’s rival had lost and had to order all of his food in restaurants a la mode, for a minimum of four meals, with photographic evidence.  Duo’d given him a whole list of rules for how to deal with the servers who balked or said they didn’t do it, and overall it had been just annoying and embarrassing enough to garner quite a few laughs.

 

His bets with Trowa were always significantly more intense, however, and it was lucky for everyone that they only played each other a couple of times, maybe more during playoffs, rather than every week.

 

In fact, Duo had a small tattoo of the Greek comedy and tragedy masks, low on his hip, from a particularly poignant loss.

 

Of course, Trowa had a similarly placed design - his a fucking compass, in case he got lost again, Duo had insisted, snickering.  Trowa had rolled his eyes, but a few hours later he’d received a photo via text, from an upside down vantage point, of a compass with no directional indicators.  He’d been forced to show it to Wufei because he’d laughed uproariously, and the other man had grumbled about the two of them taking their little jokes a bit too far.

 

Duo had shrugged him off.  He and Trowa were so covered in ink it hardly mattered, after all.

 

On Sunday, when Trowa held up his ‘outfit’ for the task of washing, waxing, and detailing the other man’s classic Shelby, Duo was suddenly inclined to agree with Wufei.

 

“You want me to wear that?” He asked, flatly, eyeballing the offending items.

 

Trowa shrugged, smug smirk playing over his lips.  “That’s the bet, remember?”

 

Duo reached out and reluctantly accepted the tangled mess of straps and rings and - was that underwear?!

 

“Dude-”

 

“Simone in reception just _happened_ to overhear you telling someone about our bet. And she just decided, _oh-so-helpfully_ to mention to Penny that I was planning to ask her out on a date.”

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

Sighing in resignation, Duo turned to head for the bathroom down the hall to get changed.

 

He definitely deserved this.

 

Fifteen minutes of swearing and sweating later, he was finally, _finally_ wearing the… contraption Trowa had designated. Except he couldn't reach the final buckle and he was just about ready to beg for fucking mercy.

 

He stormed out of the bathroom in defeated frustration.

 

“Barton! Where'd you go? I can't get this fucking strap buckled and where the hell did you even get this-”

 

He stopped. Trowa was standing two feet away, paused where he'd come around the corner from the kitchen to see what Duo was yelling about, and he stood, frozen, staring.

 

Duo hadn't looked in the mirror, but he figured he must look a sight, his hair escaping in wisps from his braid, and his body tangled in the mishmash of straps and black shorts so small they were probably illegal.

 

“What? Did I fuck it up? I dunno what I'm doin’ here Tro.”

 

His friend - his partner - still looked like he'd swallowed his tongue.

 

“What?” Duo asked, irritably. “You picked it out.”

 

Trowa swallowed, hard. “Yeah, but it was supposed to be funny. Not- not this-” he gestured vaguely.

 

“This what? Obscene? Ridiculous? Absurd? Cmon how many adjectives do you need?”

 

“Hot.” Trowa's gaze was like a brand on his skin, lingering on the ink disappearing beneath the edges of the black shorts. “It's fucking hot, holy shit.” He ran a hand through his hair, scrubbing at his scalp.

 

And whirled, abruptly, striding back into the kitchen.

 

_What the fuck?_

 

Duo followed, confused and determined and something he couldn't quite put a name to - but which felt a _lot_ like the times he couldn't back down from a challenge.

 

Trowa thought he was hot?

 

 _Trowa_ thought he, _Duo Maxwell_ , was hot?!

 

Trowa _fucking_ _Barton_ , who was routinely chosen for ops that involved pretending to be a rich playboy, an underwear model, and a high end escort, thought _he_ was hot?

 

That was news to him.

 

But not unwelcome.

 

Very, very welcome, in fact. Worth encouraging, even.

 

Duo paused just over the threshold of the kitchen, hip cocked against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. Trowa was leaning into the fridge, bottles clinking, as he unearthed a beer from the back.  He unscrewed the cap and took several swallows from the bottle before he noticed Duo's presence, turning away from the fridge with the rim still pressed against his lips.

 

And nearly dropped the bottle.

 

“Jesus fuck, Duo!”

 

“You aren't even gonna offer me one? Take the edge off my humiliation?”  Duo quirked a grin at Trowa's uncharacteristic discomfort.

 

The taller man fumbled blindly inside the fridge, eyes still flickering back to Duo, and handed him a second beer, twisting the cap off at the last moment in practiced motion.

 

Duo tilted the bottle back, taking several long drinks, watching Trowa from underneath his lashes.

 

Trowa, who had frozen with his own bottle halfway to his mouth, to watch.

 

“So,” Duo said, and Trowa jerked guiltily, “about this buckle I'm having trouble with.”

 

Sighing explosively, Trowa raised his hands in surrender and said, “I've changed my mind. You can just wear your regular clothes. Not- not _that_.”

 

“You sure? I mean, a bet’s a bet.”  Duo shifted, setting his beer on the counter, letting his hands hang loosely at his sides as he took a couple of steps forward.

 

Trowa nodded, jerkily, taking a half step back.

 

“Alright. That's fine then.” Duo paused as Trowa practically wilted in relief. “But I still need help with the buckles.”

 

An alarmed green gaze shot up to meet his, eyes wide.

 

“I don't think this thing’s _meant_ to be taken off without help,” Duo elaborated, gesturing down at himself.  Turning around, he tugged his hair over his shoulder, presenting Trowa with the line of buckles down his back.  

 

He heard a wheezing breath behind him.

 

“I mean it was easy enough to snap on and pull over my head but now that I've tightened all the straps, I can't reach the buckles to undo them.”

 

There was a moment of silence, then the sounds of Trowa chugging his beer before depositing it on the counter - the bottle empty, based on the sound - and then the rustle of his clothes as he stepped closer to Duo.

 

Fingers fumbled at the first snap, finally getting it undone, moving more quickly through the others until the entire contraption was loose around his chest.  Trowa took a step back, just out of his reach. Duo shot a grin over his shoulder, one he'd practiced, used before - at the bar, at parties, at clubs.

 

Dark and heated and a little mischievous.

 

It usually got him good results.

 

“Thanks, Tro,” he purred.  Duo reached down and pulled the top up and over his head, turning to drop it at Trowa’s feet.

 

He was reaching for the waist of the tiny shorts when Trowa's control finally snapped.

 

Long arms reached out, dragging him closer to Trowa as his mouth was plundered, one of Trowa's hands buried in his hair, the other on his hip, thumb ghosting over the masks tattooed there.

 

Duo groaned into the kiss, his own hands clenched in the back of Trowa's tshirt, body pressed at close at it could get to the other man's.

 

When Trowa dragged his mouth across Duo’s jaw, nipping his way to his earlobe, Duo asked, breathlessly, “Do you think this is an ‘acceptable outlet’ for our energy?”

 

“Do you think I give a fuck?” Sharp teeth grazed his shoulder as Trowa's hand crept around to cup his ass.

 

“I hope you're planning to give a fuck,” Duo groaned, tilting his head to the side, sliding a hand around between them to palm Trowa’s erection through his shorts. “Otherwise this is a complete waste.”

 

“Well we can’t have that.”  Trowa took a half step back, reaching behind his head to tug his shirt off, tossing it aside, giving Duo the perfect opportunity to admire the play of muscles and riot of ink across his body.  Guns shaped of trailing vines and blooming flowers, some kind of bird of prey along his ribs.  Something that looked vaguely like a star map of the Lagrange points.  Duo made a mental note to map them all out with lips and teeth and tongue.

 

Later, though.  

 

Much later.

 

Maybe when they made it to a horizontal surface.

 

It was Duo who crowded Trowa, this time, pressing him back against the fridge door, hands exploring miles of previously untouched skin - or at least, skin he hadn’t touched in _this_ context, and what a waste _that_ was - warm and smooth and strong underneath his hands.  His mouth trailed across Trowa’s collarbone, down his chest, across pebbled nipples and defined abs, pausing briefly to pay special homage to the infamous compass tattoo that was so tantalizingly close to his final destination.  

 

Duo looked up as he tugged Trowa’s shorts down, taking in the long line of his body, head thrown back against the fridge, one hand buried in Duo’s hair, the other clenched at his side.  Forced his attention away from the visual feast and back to his current objective, the neglected erection throbbing in front of him.

 

Leaning forward, he licked a long, wet path from base to tip, engulfing the head in warm wet suction, retreating with a pop.

 

Enjoyed the stuttered groaning that reached his ears, the slight tightening of a fist in his hair.

 

He dove back in, sucking Trowa down as far as he could take him, tasting warm, salty skin, inhaling the unique aroma of hot, aroused man.  He bobbed, flicking his tongue along the underside, sucking hard as he drew back, sliding easily back down to the base, following minute movements of Trowa’s hips.  Trying to find the rhythm that was going to make the other man come apart at the seams.

 

There was nothing Duo enjoyed more than getting under Trowa’s skin, and it had suddenly occurred to him that this was the best possible and most enjoyable way he could have imagined.  

 

He finally seemed to hit on a perfect rhythm, Trowa rocking into his mouth, the hand in his hair spasming, pulling at the roots, and Duo moaned around the cock in his mouth, Trowa moaning in response, swelling against his lips and tongue.

 

“Fuck!”  The tugging got insistent.  “I’m going to come, Duo.”

 

He hummed an affirmative, swirling his tongue around the head of Trowa’s cock, lapping at the moisture there, getting a taste of what was to come.

 

Literally.

 

Duo swallowed Trowa back down, relaxing his throat as Trowa’s hips snapped forward and he made a garbled sound, succumbing to the inevitable, cock swelling and throbbing, pulses of hot come spilling over, Duo swallowing it eagerly.  

 

He sucked gently at Trowa’s softening cock as he pulled away, the other man sagging, slightly, against the fridge, panting, eyes closed and mouth slack.  Duo rocked back on his heels, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand as he looked up at the sated expression on Trowa’s face, grinning.

 

As though he could feel Duo’s gaze on him, Trowa opened his eyes, taking in the scene at his feet, Duo on his knees, cock straining against the tiny shorts, mouth swollen and face flushed.

 

“You look pleased with yourself,” Trowa murmured, winding himself back up to his usual tension.

 

Duo shrugged one shoulder.  “Why shouldn’t I be?  I’ve found something better to detail than your _car_.”

 

Trowa leaned down to haul him to his feet, tugging him close, slanted his mouth over Duo’s and delved in, searching out the taste of himself.  Just the feel of Trowa against him had Duo rolling his hips, searching out much-needed friction.  

 

Fingers that were much more nimble than before tugged at the tiny shorts, pushing them past Duo’s hips where they fell to his ankles and he kicked them away, both of them naked in Trowa’s kitchen.  A calloused palm dragged back up his thigh, fondled his balls.  Duo groaned in response.  That same warm hand wrapped around his cock and Duo knew he wasn’t going to last long.

 

He was so wound up.

 

Horny.  

 

Desperate.

 

He thrust into Trowa’s grip, unable to help himself, the other man countering his movements, thumb pressed against the underside of his dick, hand twisting expertly around the shaft.  More stroking.  More pressing.  Duo broke away from the kiss, leaning his head on Trowa’s shoulder.  Breathing, or trying to.  He braced one arm against the fridge, behind the taller man, the other reaching out to grip Trowa’s hip.

 

Breathe in.

 

Breathe out.

 

Trowa bit down on his earlobe, sending a jolt straight down his spine, his cock twitching in the other man’s grip.

 

“F-fuck!” Duo stuttered out, breath catching in his chest.

 

The hot, clever mouth dipped down his throat, trailing tiny nips and sucking kisses.  Marking his skin.  Then another sharp bite, where his neck curved into shoulder, and Duo came, unexpectedly, in a rush of blinding pleasure as he spent himself all over both of them, obscenities falling from his lips-

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck godDAMN Tro!”

 

And then he was panting, loose-limbed and boneless, leaning against Trowa, who was leaning against the fridge, dragging in deep lungfuls of air.

 

After a few moments he leaned back to grin up at the other man, who was smirking down at him in return.

 

“So,” Trowa said, smirk widening just a bit, “you wanna go detail my bed?”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Fantasy Football is a dreaded event in my household, and these are real League Rules that have been the bane of my existence in the past. 
> 
> Credit to Manny for classic cars and competitive spirits.
> 
> Sexy!Trowa undercover operations inspired by Clara's recent fic, Runaway.
> 
> The 'outfit' Trowa chose for Duo is purely my own imagination after a hair-raising ten minute google search of men's fetish wear.


End file.
